Late that evening a lady, in a black veil, knocked at No.—Gloucester Place, and asked to see Mrs. Haughton on urgent business. She was admitted. She remained but five minutes.

The next day when, “gay as a bridegroom prancing to his bride,” Jasper Losely presented himself at the widow’s door, the servant placed in his hand a packet, and informed him bluffly that Mrs. Haughton had gone out of town. Jasper with difficulty suppressed his rage, opened the packet,—his own letters returned, with these words, “Sir, your name is not Courtenay Smith. If you trouble me again, I shall apply to the police.” Never from female hand had Jasper Losely’s pride received such a slap on its face. He was literally stunned. Mechanically he hastened to Arabella Crane; and having no longer any object in concealment, but, on the contrary, a most urgent craving for sympathy, he poured forth his indignation and wrongs. No mother could be more consolatory than Mrs. Crane. She soothed, she flattered, she gave him an excellent dinner; after which, she made him so comfortable, what with an easy-chair and complimentary converse, that, when Jasper rose late to return to his lodging, he said, “After all, if I had been ugly and stupid, and of a weakly constitution, I should have been of a very domestic turn of mind.”